From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, Where no corrupted voices brawl; No conscience molten into gold; No forged accuser bought or sold;

When we have wandered all our ways, 5 Shuts up the story of our days:

But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL (1561?-1595)

THE BURNING BABE

As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,

Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;

And lifting up a fearful eye to view what

fire was near,

A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear,

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the great;

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;4 Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

From THE TEMPEST
ARIEL'S SONGS

Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands;

Curtsied when you have, and kissed
The wild waves whist,5

5

5

ΤΟ

15

20

Idle thoughts deceiving; None have power of an hour In their life's bereaving.

5

ΙΟ

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?

O sweet content!

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? O punishment!

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers golden numbers?

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